


Not an Ending, But a Beginning

by Jade_Riven



Category: Transfusions (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Canon verse, F/M, Mild Language, Past, Past Relations, Soft Gore, pre-comic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Riven/pseuds/Jade_Riven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small things happen along the way of transitioning, but Joa comes to terms with himself, finding a new flower blooming in the desert of his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not an Ending, But a Beginning

Early morning sun shines through soft curtains. It's warm, the color soothing. Green eyes open.

A tumble of sheets, it's white with the orange and yellow of the light pouring from the window. Dust floats in the air, contrasting against the brown of the wooden flooring. It's glassy, his vision is blurred from sleep. A dream ebbs at his green eyes, sharp features trying to remember. A cross necklace, dark wild hair. Eyes heavy with knowledge. No one talks to him at 5 AM wondering why the bloody hell is the winter so cold, why can't it just be cold somewhere else? Joa, who yawns and scrubs his hands over his face and shakes away strands of his bright red hair, stands up. The world zooms up to meet him and he's dizzy for a second, yawning out his drowsiness for the second time before heading to the bathroom.

It's hard to wake up in the mornings, but it's not hard to leave home. Joa finds solace in things like slipping on his shoes. He finds comfort in breakfast with Jess at the small shop across his apartment complex. Though his apartment is small and quiet, he much prefers the loud outdoors and pubs surrounding him. It's not bad, life is easy. In the mornings.

Jess wears cheetah print jeans, a belt lined with faux bullets and a white top tucked in. Joa eyes her cleavage and she slaps away a hand that reaches for her buttocks. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to be caught outside with your hand on my arse." She grins, red lipstick like blood on her plump lips. Joa kisses her. "You know I'm crazy." He swoops her up and hugs her by the thighs, Jess holding in one of her magical giggles. They're far enough away from the shop, from everyone, so it's just the two of them. When Joa sets her down, the world comes back and both of them can hear the bustling people around them.

Joa moves a hand to her waist and his palm is burned slightly from the sun on the metal of her belt. He grins through the soft stinging pain in his hand and nuzzles his forehead against hers. He studies her cheeks, the wrinkles so hair thin on her skin – her humanity. The love she sees in small things makes Joa's fingers crawl with static. "Yes, well, I have to get to work." Joa lets her go. "See you tonight, at your place? You ready for me to come back?" To give some background, Joa had stopped relaxing in his apartment and then opted to sleep over at Jess' house. His apartment smells too much like Mark, like the walls inhaled some of his poetry or the brand of cigarettes he always bought. It had gotten worse after the first few months, but then two years passed. Joa gave up. Though, he'd never admit. "Hell yeah." He kisses her again. Her breath smells of sweets. Smells... pink.

The day passes. The sun sets. Joa sits down in the pub, drinking down a beer. A few guys, who knows their names, stare at him. Joa has bad chemistry with them. He throws a string of curses (That bimbette of a wife – or something like that. Calling out her bosom and her body like a joke) and before he knows it the group of six guys throws him out the back door, into the alleyway. Joa chuckles, and gives the first guy a hard punch to the nose. His knuckles burn when he pulls away and the man slams into the bar door, collapsing as blood gushes from his nostrils. Already, it stinks of metal.

The second man jumps him, throwing a basic punch at his jaw. Joa dodges it with a grin and throws a fist into his chin. The skin on his knuckles tear and he backs off, the second guy had bitten his tongue and falls limp as he leaks a dribble of blood from his lips. The four other thugs (later on, Joa would call them a number of things: cocksuckers, dickheads. Thugs seemed an appropriate thought) growl at him. "You shouldn't look at me like that." Joa chuckles. "It could start a fight –" A well-aimed punch makes Joa reel back. His nose cracks left and he can't breathe through it for a moment. His eyes prick and he gets a suffocating feeling in his cheeks and chest. Pain. White hot and boiling with anger. He stabilizes and holds his nose. His white shirt is ruined with red. It stains the hem and rips down through the fabric.

Another brute pulls out a butterfly knife, silver and glistening. It clicks and flips into place. The blade frightens him. Joa has a sinking feeling that the fight he picked was too much, but he doesn't let it show. He blows out through his lips, blood covering his cupids bow and chin. Fuck, his noes throbs. He readies his fists, but a punch was throw too quickly. It hits Joa's cheek bone. Another throw, his other cheekbone. He's bleeding under his eyes. The knife plays in, a cut on his cheek, and Joa makes the mistake of tackling the man with the weapon.

It sinks into his gut, and he cries out, coughing up a clump of blood that has him wheezing for a moment before the man makes the best out of the situation and runs him up and slams him into the brick wall of the brownstone. Joa coughs, eyes wide. "You fucker --!" He chokes out. The man drags the knife across his stomach, blood gushes. Joa's organs swirl. Fuck, it hurts like a bitch! The man pulls away and Joa falls to the floor fast. A kick to his gut makes him roll over. His face lays on its right side, his green eyes burning hot with anger. "I told you not to say things like that, Joa." The man sneers. Joa grits his teeth, spits a glob of bloody saliva in the man's face. "Bite me." He sneers. The group chuckles and Joa can't make out the rest of what they're saying, just smiles and lips moving too slowly (You know, boys, let's just leave him, see if he makes it). They leave, and Joa manages to grumble out a weak 'Come back here and finish me off, you cowards!' but blood gurgles to the back of his throat. Shit, it's dark. Jess is probably worried. His groans, clenches his hands and winces. Shit, I have to get to her..

"You are dying," The voice is deep, smooth, liquid. Joa feels a surge of strength. French accents lace the sound, sultry, ancient.

"And you're an idiot." Joa rasps. 

"You are a good fighter." Yup, an idiot. "Not your finest moment, but you did quite well regarding..." The man, with glowing golden eyes, gives a once over of his body. Bloody handprints on his jeans. Another cut on his thigh. There's a lot of blood. His head pounds. "Would you like to pay them back? If I give you the power, would you have your revenge?" He continues. Joa doesn't have time for details, but usually he notices if someone is breathing or not. This man wasn't. 

The man gets down on one knee next to Joa, a slim forearm resting on his own thigh. "That fight was quite unfair."

Joa eyes him, green eyes narrowing. "It'd still be six against on, idiot." He spits.

The man has a creepy shadow that the lamp post casts over his angular face. Sharp nose and jaw, thin lips. Thick brow. Joa can't quite see his hair color. He struggles and coughs up a bit more blood. "You would have more than one man's strength. More than those men together." The man seems to not realize Joa is bleeding out and probably dying. 

Joa wonders, what the hell this man is on. He wants to yell at him to explain. He can barely think. Jess... that name floats around in his scattered brain like the same color of her lips. Red. The color that drips down his body. He is silent, staring at him. He moves his head to look at this man more clearly. The action hurts him, but he restrains the groan that threatens to spill from his mouth. He studies him. He looks sharp, nice suit, clean skin. A smirk playing at his lips.

"Yeah, of course I'd like to kick their sorry asses." He replies.

"Do you want to live?"

"Fuck yeah."

"That's enough for me."

The next events Joa feels in great detail. More than he would like. The man leans over and sets two gloved hands tenderly on his sore neck. Joa is weak, he makes no move of protest. The man brings his head down and sinks his teeth into his neck. His skin tears, parts. He can feel blood leak even more so down his neck, drip off his spine, soak into his hairline. The man isn't breathing, Joa can't feel breath on his neck. The pain isn't what bothers him, but he grits his teeth anyway, skin straining around the wound as the mysterious lad sucks the blood from his artery. Joa could feel something, something like the feeling of when one lays on the shore line of a beach, and the wave washes over you and then the feeling of everything receding, the pulling and tugging of something – of himself. Joa's life was being sucked out of his body through his neck. It hurt, shit, it's hurting now but he can't make a sound.

A memory floats to his eyes as he shuts them. It's Mark, his friend. 'Am I dead?' He half jokes, but the memory clogs his voice. Mark lays on the ground of their apartment. The portable record player next to him and his huge black headphones plugged in. He's already smoked three cigs, and his Plexiglas ashtray holds their ends. He hand are folded over his chest, elbows on the ground, dark eyes closed. Joa walks in, the air is thick, but he doesn't mind. He spies Mark and that giddy feeling of mischief bubbles in his gut.

"Tickle attack!" He yells, diving forward, fingers already assaulting Mark. He gives a yelp, and lets out a string of curses, headphones falling off and his hand groping at something to make Joa stop. He grits his teeth and muffles his loud laughter before his hands latch onto his ashtray and he brings it up and smacks Joa across the face with it. He falls off and Mark breathes heavy, brow knit. He presses a hand to his chest. "Bloody Hell..."

The memory fades and in whatever Hell Joa is in now, he chuckles to himself. "Fuck yeah, best times of my life."

Then he wakes up, his eyes opening weakly. His breath is hot in his throat, yet his body is shivering. The tremors hit him so hard he feels like throwing up. His back arches, his limbs flail. His body feels like his insides are on fire, burning up so hard his eyes roll to the back of his head. He makes weird grunting sounds, and the man stands up, brushes his gloves on his trench coat and watches for a while. Time flies and Joa is suddenly still. Moments pass by, wind blows. The ancient French man doesn't even move. His glassy eyes are strained on Joa. 

Suddenly, Joa opens his eyes with a gasp. He sits up, hunches over and throws up blood and bile, coughing and gagging, His eyes water, but then he looks over at his knuckles, the wounds heeling up, only leaving blood on his fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut, fire burning up his throat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck –"He clears his throat and shakes his head. "What the Hell is this."

"You are thirsty." The man says. He slips off one gloves and folds his sleeves up. "Drink." He holds his wrist in front of Joa's face, and Joa doesn't even think twice. His hands wrap around his forearm and his wrist and he sinks his own sharp teeth into the cold skin. The blood that rushes up to his lips taste like heaven. It's cool, easing the burning in his throat. He gulps it down, eyes closing as his tongue presses into the wound.

The French man calls his name. "Joa," He snaps. Joa bites down harder, sucking at the wound. The man pulls away his wrist sharply and Joa hisses at him, tongue and teeth dyed red. The man slaps his once sharply across the face. "Get up, go home. Beware of the daylight and only feed on your enemies." The man warns. "My name is Marcel. You will see me again." He rolls down his sleeve down and slides on his gloves. "Tell no one of what you are."

Marcel is gone. Joa swallows the last bit of blood in his mouth and stands. He feels powerful, his legs don't shake. He peels his jacket and shirt off, his chest is clean, white. His wounds are healed. He looks at himself, sees the cracks in his skin, his nails. He hears the people in the bar, the glass clinking together in cheers. He hears a dog bark. He hears everything. He remembers what Marcel had said and quickly wipes off the blood from his face and hands the best he could, before sprinting from the alleyway.

He runs home, finding himself running faster than before. Everything looks different. He makes it home. His lights are one. He carefully opens the door, minding his own strength. He looks around, and hears breathing coming from his bedroom. He sets his bloody clothes in the laundry room, slips into the shower and sheds the rest of the fabric. He showers so fast, barely look at himself in the mirror. He feels... good for just dying. Now, he's just thinking. His hands stop as he scrubs his chest. Dude, I'm a fucking vampire.

*

He emerges from the shower, dries his hair, and then looks at his bed. Jess is there, the telephone in her hand, asleep. He furrows his brow, emotions overflowing his gut. He sits on the edge of the bed and pets her hair, brushing blonde hair from her face, kissing her forehead. She slowly opens her eyes. "Joa...?" She whispers, a hand goes to cup the hand on her cheek. He hushes her softly and kisses her chest. She grunts. "You smell funny."

Joa opens his eyes, pupils dilating. He pulls away and sets his hand on her hip. Joa had seen how truly naked humans were when he ran home. Pores and scars and wrinkles even on toddlers. Looking at Jess, he smiles softly. She had managed to get even prettier. Her nose now more defined and her hair more silky smooth now in hyper vision. "Sorry," He apologizes. Jess looks at him tiredly.

"You didn't fight again, did you?" She asks, hands wrapping around his neck as she pulls him down to the bed. Joa wears a sweatshirt and boxers, Jess in her dark, elastic pants and white tee. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"No, love, I didn't." His lie comes out so easy. He hugs her tightly. She grunts again.

"Too tight, Joa." She grumbles, setting the phone on the counter and curling back again on his chest. He loosens up and she lets out a large breath. He can feel her pulse in her breath, through her bust, her clothes. He can hear her breathing like her lips are right by his ears. He can feel her skin like never before. I'm defiantly not human anymore. And I drank blood so it's just like a horror movie? Dracula? I don't want to kill Jess like he did Mina. Jess suddenly look up at him. "You okay, baby?" She purrs. "I can't hear your heartbeat."

Joa forces himself to take a breath in, even though he doesn't need it. His eyes crinkle in a smirk. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Just sleep." He rubs her shoulders and she slowly falls asleep again. It's a tough night. Joa can't shut his eyes. Jess rolls from his grip and curls under the sheets. He sits up and crawls to the edge of the bed. Even in the pitch dark, he can see perfectly. All the way down to the carpet sewing's. He stands and goes to the bathroom. His eyes glance up at the mirror and his gut clenches. There is nothing. Just the empty wall behind him. He panics, leans over the counter and presses his finger into the glass. Pulling away mortified, not even his finger leaves a print. He looks down at his hands and his palms are completely flat. Skin having no distinct marks can see with his own eyes. He chocks back tears and when he wipes the moistness, he pulls his hands back and widens his eyes. Blood smears on his knuckles. He washes his hands quickly, splashing water in his face and drying it with the towel. He checks on Jess, who is still asleep, before he slips into the kitchen. He gets out a box of his favorite Doves's Angel Delights. Chocolate, butterscotch, banana and strawberry never smelled so good. He adds the powder into a bowl and adds the milk quickly. He stirs it and the instant whip expands. He licks his teeth and notices his canines are sharper than usual. A hand goes up to touch them before the cream is finally ready.

He swallows loudly, before scooping up some of the beige whip and holding it to his lips. He opens his mouth, presses the spoon in, and closes. For a moment, a small moment but for Joa it was an eternity, it tastes good. The consistency, the flavor. Then, it's over, and the delicious snacks turns into an awful tasting dust in his mouth. He chokes on it, drops his spoon and spits it out in the sink. He coughs as quietly as he can, gurgles water and spits it out. He feels panic settle in his gut. What the Hell did I get myself into? He swallows air.

Looking at the Dove's Angels Delight, he takes it, throws it out and sets the dish to wash. Shaking his head, he leans on the counter. I need to calm down. Evaluate. I have super speed and strength, no reflection, or heartbeat. I can't eat anything so far – turns to dust. I... cry blood. He bites his lip and sighs. And I'm not even tired. He looks at the clock. Its half past midnight. Poor Jess must be dead tired. He chides himself again, then heads back to bed, slipping in the side furthest away from the window. Marcel's voice makes his shudder.

'Beware of the daylight and only feed on your enemies.' He had said. He remembers it in perfect detail. Looking back, he can now see his hair; blond and combed back, showing his forehead.

Beware of sunlight? So, I am a vampire? Shit, good thing I'm able to live off the money Mark left. But, now I can't wake up in this bed. He looks at the overhead window. Its curtains are drawn, but everyone morning Joa knows he wakes up with sunlight on his face. He rolls to his side and pulls Jess into him. Her back against his chest. He shuts his eyes, and snaps them open a moment later only to find himself lying in bed. The room is becoming brighter. He curses, kisses Jess one last time before he slips from bed.

Now, he is tired, sluggishly moving to Mark's old bedroom. It had a window, but it was built with thicker curtains. Luckily, they were closed and he shuts the door softly, crawling in bed and slowly falling asleep. It's dreamless, dark, and black. But, its warm, the warmest he has been all night. Even with Jess, with her blood filled, warm, heart-pumping body. Fuck, he needs her now. But, its dark and he isn't dreaming. Just sleeping.

He doesn't know when he wakes up again, but it's dark. He squints, opens the curtains hesitantly, and stares up at the moon. Bright. There is a knock at the door and Jess walks in. "Hey, baby. I woke up the morning and didn't want to wake you." She says. Walking over, she sits next to him and leans her head on his shoulder. "I almost called the policed – you weren't breathing."

Joa tenses, but Jess gives a grin. "But, then you rolled over and groaned in your sleep. You really scared me. Don't do that again." She punches his arm playfully.

"Ow," Joa grins, but then remembers his teeth and he looks back at the moon.

"You hungry? I made some Delight?"

Joa shakes his head. Marcel said not to tell anyone about what he is. He doesn't dare go against him. "Actually, I'm not feeling that well. I'll pass."

Jess purses her lips. "You want anything? Water?"

Joa turns and kisses her nose, softly, but static still pumps through him like a light bulb. "I'm good. "Since I slept the entire day, I'll be up late. Don't mind me." They share a kiss, Jess and clinging so tight to him but Joa can't tell if she's really trying anymore. It's so much not tell her. Playing sick is the only way to ease into this new supernatural stuff.

This continues for a few days. Joa lays in his own bedroom, hugging Jess as close as he can without hurting her. He knows a lot more things now. He went after the guys who had killed him and drank one fresh of blood just yesterday night, the others, ran away pissing their pants like scared children. That's how Joa feels. But, no way is going to call his parents. His mom would freak out if he even sounded sick. He shuts his eyes and pretends to breath, Jess with her arms around his waist. Her breathing is comforting, human. Joa regrets a lot of things.

The knock at the door doesn't wake Jess, but it makes Joa's eyes snap open. They're blue now. Icy blue. The soft green no longer inhabits them.

He takes a whiff of the air. Marcel, his domination scent is like smoke in the air. He slides from the bed and opens the door. "What the Hell do you want?" He snaps. Marcel isn't alone. Joa isn't afraid however. They don't feel threatening. Marcel, with his combed back blond hair and piercing blue eyes, looks dead at him.

"We are leaving. Let's go. I am collecting my creations before we leave." He says. There is a girl behind him. Black trench coat tied tightly to her small waist. She wears a long pencil skirt underneath with leggings and boots. Her hair is red (not as red as Joa's, but ginger) and frizzy. Bangs cascade down her forehead and curls falls down her back. She wears a thick headband to control it, eyes big and dark. She gives him a glare, opens her mouth as to say something, but Joa speaks, keeping his eyes on Marcel.

"I'm not leaving." He states. For some reason, he barely manages those words. Marcel has control over him, his... Sire. His master. He needs to obey. His mind is screaming for him to obey. "I'm not leaving Jess."

Marcel takes a terrifying step towards him, white cravat seeming to darken in the light. "We are leaving." He repeats. "Let's go."

Joa can't argue, he nods against his will. "Let me..." he clears his throat and the vampires behind Marcel shift like he did something wrong. "Let me say goodbye. I'll be about in a few minutes."

Joa waits a painful moment before Marcel steps back and nods at his 'family' behind him. "Gather the rest. Dominique, wait here. Collect Joa when he is finished."

Dominique, a male vampire with short cropped blond hair and shaded John Lennon style glasses stays while the rest of the group leaves. He wears a dark turtle neck, a beige trench coat that is left half opened to show his chest yet still tied around his waist, dark pants and boots. The last vampire leaves down the stairs and Joa shuts the door. Dominique makes no move in protest.

He contemplates running away, but then Dominique speaks up from behind the dry wall. "Don't do it." He says loud enough for Joa to hear. "Marcel will find you. He doesn't take betrayal well."

Joa eyes the wall. How did he...

"I'm telepathic." Dominique replies. "I read minds. Now hurry up. Don't keep us waiting."

Joa turns back and heads to the bedroom. He dress into his favorite pair of jeans. Converse, and the black studded jacket that he wears to the pup. Then, finally, he sits back down on the bed, and brushes a bit of hair away from Jess' forehead. She sleeps so peacefully. So in the dark about his dilemma. He kisses his forehead and her nose and those plump lips and her eyelids and cheeks. He kisses her everywhere he can. She wakes up and rakes a soft hand through his hair. "What's wrong, love?" She asks, hugging him.

"I love you, Jess." He whispers. She hums in agreement before she opens the covers for him. "Come back to bed. You're so cold." His heart aches, the words, her voice, the home is no longer his.

"I'm going to the bathroom. Don't worry about me. Go back to bed."

Her arm drops as she nods, sleeping again. Shit, Joa feels the lump in his throat grow and he tears himself away from the bed and shuts the door. The edge of his palms go to press into his cheekbones, stopping the bloody tears from falling any further. He hiccups and sobs and shakes. Why?! Why, why, why?! I just want to stay with Jess, I just want her, why can't I...

He wipes away his tears and washes his hands once more before grabbing a napkin and going into Mark's room. He looks around once more. Bookcase half empty. Bed sheets clean. He shoves his hands in his pockets. He stays at the doorway for a bit before turning slowly and then heading to the door. He looks back once more. Hesitation wraps its long fingers around Joa's ankle and drags itself on the floor. Crying like a child who wants to stay with Mommy for just a little bit longer.

He opens the door, shuts it and locks it. Dominique kicks off the wall and Joa wipes the blood from his cheeks with the napkin. "Let's go." He says, walking ahead of Dominique who follows him down the steps. It takes a lot for Joa just to let go (He'll never admit it, however. He likes to think he fought so hard instead of crying like a baby and running away from his precious Jess) and run off to whatever place Marcel is taking him. They all gather at the apartment complex entrance. There are about seven vampires. Joa looks around. Marcel stands in the front, slipping on his fancy black gloves like it's nothing.

"Those of you that cannot make the jumps, please pair up with the ones that can." He says, brushing his trench coat free of wrinkles. The group shifts, moves and then stills again. Dominique is paired with the red haired girl, and both of them share a silent conversation.

"Jumps?" Joa asks, crumpling the napkin and shoving it into his pocket. Marcel nods.

"We jump the buildings. It's easier anyway." He replies. Looking back, Marcel gives an easy smile. "Ready?"

The group nods, and Joa grits his teeth. In pairs, the group shoots into the sky. Joa can see them easily, but to a human eye, it would be blurry, too fast to comprehend. Marcel stays. "Joa," That voice, screw him for being so dominant. "I gave only what you asked for. Do not hate me."

Joa turns his head away from his defiantly. "We all must break ties." Marcel continues nonchalantly. "Things happen for a reason."

"I never wanted to leave Jess!" He shouts back. Marcel heaves a sigh.

"Yes, well, I suppose you didn't. Let us go now." He leaps so elegantly, so fluid like ink, that Joa is stunned after his words, and grits his teeth. Without thinking, he leaps after him

It takes about an hour for the group to fall in line. Joa stops at the building before everyone else, and turns back. His eyes zero in on the apartment window. The lights flicker on, and he muffles a gasp through his teeth. It's Jess, looking out the window, calling his name, trying to find him. Why is it that everyone leaves her? She deserves so much better than filth like me... She always hated when I fought the other guys. Why hadn't I listened?

Marcel, who whispers a word to the group, makes the bound and joins Joa's side. "I once had a wife." Marcel says. "Wonderful, she was. But, as she grew old, I stayed eternally young. She died in my arms of a sickness I could not catch. I buried her with my own hands."

Joa's stomach, though dead and unmoving, acts up. He feels sick, like he's going to throw up. "I'll never forget her." He says shakily, looking down. Those red tears come back, rolling thickly down his pale cheeks. "I'll never..." A sob rips up his chest, and Marcel sets a hand on his shoulder now.

"We – this group and the rest in France – are your family now. Each one created by me in the hundreds of years that I had lived. You will love them, I promise you that. We head to France. I hope the journey will ease your mind." He pulls his hand away, and he pulls out a handkerchief. It's pure white, so clean it seems to glow in the dark of the night. Joa takes it, wipes his tears and clears his throat. "I'm ready," He nods, folding the napkin and turning. "We all have to cut ties, don't we?"

The journey to France makes Joa feel more alone than ever.


End file.
